Mein Schatz
by Icefrosty
Summary: Germany is left scarred and broken apart by the terrible vindiction of the Allied forces following WW2. As he struggles to piece his country back together from the brink, aid comes from the most unlikely source-his daughter, Bavaria.
1. Hard Times

Mein Schatz

Chapter 1: Hard Times

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_Guten Abend, gute Nacht,  
>mit Rosen bedacht,<br>mit Näglein besteckt,  
>schlupf′ unter die Deck!<br>Morgen früh, wenns Gott will,  
>wirst du wieder geweckt.<em>

_Guten Abend, gute Nacht,_  
><em>von Englein bewacht,<em>  
><em>die zeigen im Traum<em>  
><em>dir Christkindleins Baum.<em>  
><em>Schlaf nun selig und süß,<em>  
><em>schau im Traum ′s Paradies.<em>

_._

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This was a terrible time for Germany. The Cold War was at its peak, his former enemies squabbling viciously for power as they flexed their muscles to test each other's strengths as well as to prove their own. To make matters even worse, Germany was on the brink of collapse, callously split in two and slowly drained of all his resources in reparation payments. Austria had suffered the same fate as punishment for its alliance with him, and now any communication between the two was forbidden. No word from Italy. Germany clenched his teeth whenever his mind conjured the name. The treacherous swine, switching sides to suit his own ends! But then, he could not blame Italy himself, just as anybody else had no right to blame Germany himself for the tragedy that had occurred in his name.

Suffice to say, Germany had never felt so bereft, humiliated, and broken since the Treaty of Versailles way back when, but now the pain was far harsher, with the added disgrace of what his generals had got up to these past years...Oh God, he shuddered to think of it, and cringed in shame. The harassment of Jews was bad enough...but _mass murder? Concentration camps? Starvation and disease? _What on earth had happened? Where had it all gone wrong? Everything—the economy, the army, the industry, the people—everything had been fine! But all of a sudden...Everything was ruined. All that was left of this once great and powerful nation was a desecrated industry, Berlin split apart by a great wall (by those damned Soviets, no less), separating people as if they were lab animals, the country itself divided like the last morsel of food and devoured between three powers, with one half ruled by those Communist sons of bitches. Oh God...

Overcome, Germany lent over his desk, head in his hands. Tears came, but for once he was not ashamed of them.

A knock at the door roused his awareness, and Germany hastily cleared his throat and wiped his eyes.

'Who is there?' he questioned, trying to restore former gruffness to his voice to hide the emotion.

'Vatti*?' a little girl's voice called.

His daughter, Bavaria. Before the country was divided, Germany had managed to rescue his youngest child and take her back to his house before anything could befall her. His wife had taken the rest and immigrated to Switzerland, where they would be safe within its neutral confines. Now, it was only himself and Bavaria left.

'O-oh, come in!' Germany bade her, trying his best to smile as his youngest daughter graced him with her childish presence.

She was a darling little thing, dressed in a small dress traditional of the Southern region in which she was raised. The outfit consisted of a black satin bodice over a white blouse, frilled red skirt with a white apron tied around it, long white stockings, spotless black shoes and a matching velvet hat, out of which flowers and a white feather sprung. The hat adorned her flowing golden ringlets, which bounced a little as she took it off in the presence of the father she adored. Smiling sweetly, Bavaria, skipped over to her father's desk and peered into his face concernedly.

'Vatti, what is the matter?' she asked, stretching out a hand to pat him on the head. 'You look sad.'

Germany gazed into those large, sapphire-blue eyes identical to his own, and knew there was no deceiving her. He could not.

'_Ja_, Vatti is very sad,' he admitted quietly. 'Our country is divided, our money and our industry taken from us, and our people bereft of pride and loved ones through their cruelty.' Germany clenched his teeth as raw emotion came spilling out, voice rising with every syllable. 'What have we done? What have we done to deserve such bitter punishment? It was not Germany who did those horrendous things! It was only a minority of individuals! Why must an entire country pay? Why must you and I pay? Our people? _Why?_'

In his rage, Germany slammed his fist with a bang on the desk's wooden surface, making his daughter jump. Tears were in her eyes. He gazed at her, face wrought with agony, and looked down at his trembling fist in despair.

'Yeah, Vatti...you're the best daddy in the whole world! You're a good man! W-why are they doing this to us...?' she whimpered, burying herself in her father's chest, sobbing. 'I'm scared! I want everything to go back to the way it was when we were all happy!'

Germany embraced his daughter with intense emotion, biting his tongue to stop his own tears.

'I know, _mein Schatz_**...I know,' he murmured hoarsely. 'Don't worry...Vatti will protect you. Soon everything will be better. I...I promise.'

Through the window, behind them, the dark clouds obscured the sun, and there was nothing but shadow.

In the hush, Germany began to murmur the song so near and dear to his and his daughter's hearts, the lullaby she dreamt happy dreams to, sounding sad and mournful in the empty house.

'_Good evening, good night,  
>With roses adorned,<br>With carnations covered,  
>Slip under the covers.<br>Tomorrow morning, if God wants so,  
>you will wake once again.<em>

_Good evening, good night._  
><em>By angels watched,<em>  
><em>Who show you in your dream<em>  
><em>the Christ-child′s tree.<em>  
><em>Sleep now peacefully and sweetly,<em>  
><em>see the paradise in your dream...'<em>

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_*Vatti: Daddy_

_**Mein Schatz: 'My treasure', or 'My sweetheart'._


	2. Tragedy in the East

Chapter 2: Tragedy in the East

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_Tag um Tag, Jahr um Jahr,  
>Wenn ich durch diese Straßen geh',<br>Seh ich wie die Ruinen dieser Stadt  
>Wieder zu Häusern auferstehen...<em>

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Germany had had enough. He would not sit idly and hope time would undo the injustice he and his people had suffered. He swore to travel to the Communist Eastern Bloc and demand justice from Russia himself. It was a desperate tactic, but he was too conscious of his country's image to attempt an aggressive attack as he wanted. Better to be civil and prove to the world that Germany still maintained its dignity and rationale. As he strapped his gun in its leather holster, checking his grim expression in the mirror as he donned his military cap, Germany mused on the fact he had resolved to take his adoptive daughter along with him. Not that he did not trust her alone in the house, but because, alone, she was vulnerable to those rampaging Russian POWs and rogue soldiers. And if they caught her…

Germany's insides boiled and he furiously shoved the notion away. He couldn't bear it.

Standing upright, the tall man made his way to the door of his room. Glancing round wistfully, he wondered when he would see its familiar interior again. Germany steeled his resolve, nodded firmly, and shut the door behind him.

Making his way down the corridor (painstakingly furnished to suit Germany's clean-cut taste), black boots thudding methodically on the gleaming wood floorboards, he stopped before a familiar door to his left, and knocked twice.

'Bavaria, are you ready?' he asked.

'Yes, Vatti!' came the cheerful little voice behind it. Moments later the blond-haired girl, clad in a modest velvet blue dress and hat, and white shoes, stepped out.

She smiled up at him, but Germany could easily detect her nervousness in her unusually pale skin and the strained contours of her face.

'Right then,' he said, forcing confidence, and taking his daughter's hand in his gloved one, 'Let's go.'

Bavaria nodded, and together they made their solitary way down the corridor, left into the main hall, and out of the great doors into the unknown.

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Bavaria. His daughter, Bavaria. As Germany walked with her hand-in-hand down the concrete steps and towards the iron gates at the far end of the garden path, he reflected on how they had not always been like this.

Old Bavaria was her true father—the remnants of the time when his country had been its own, before it had joined Prussia, along with his fellow southern brothers Baden and Wüttemberg, to be included in the North German Federation in order to escape the invading French forces. After this, Old Bavaria had become fully part of the German Empire in 1871. Soon after, Old Bavaria died, leaving behind his only daughter, the new heir to the once-independent nation, in his place. She had been born only months beforehand, and Germany himself was a youngster in his mid-teens. But this did not stop Germany from adopting Bavaria and fashioning himself as her father-figure, to protect her as part of himself (as she was, in all respect), and to love her for all her similarities and differences from himself.

As part of her father's final wishes, Germany had let Bavaria keep all her old traditions; clothing, events and all, educated her in all of them (having been too young to remember any), and included her among his family and all its drama. Although...Germany thought Old Bavaria would not object to his keeping her away from the region's famous beer festivals until she came of age. Well...make that early twenties, if Germany and all his over-protectiveness had his way. Ultimately, as far as he was concerned, she was family too. Bavaria and all her happy-go-lucky charm. Prussia had not been too thrilled (although as of late he had not been able to tell if his feelings had altered), but Germany had refused to debate the matter, and so he had begrudgingly held his tongue.

And so, here they were, a hundred or so years later, waking together to face the enemy that had broken their beloved land apart, to put things right again.

Watching the rising concrete wall steadily revealing itself in their vision, ugly and hateful, the symbol of all their misery, standing stubbornly beyond the Brandenburg Gate, Germany's grip on his daughter's hand tightened.

Do not worry, Bavaria. Vatti will unite us all again. Everything shall be well.

They walked silently under the great concrete edifice that was the Brandenburg Gate, on which the famous quadriga(1) stood. Germany snorted bitterly as he considered that the horse-drawn chariot was driven by Victory, and her olive wreath was meant to symbolise peace. Peace! In this war-broken land! Victory, riding ever in the face of utter defeat that now plagued the lives of his people. The irony was almost too much.

Approaching the odious Berlin Wall, a shape in the watchtower nearby moved and threw a sniper rifle out at their heads.

'Halt!(2)' the guard bellowed. 'Wer bist Sie?(3)'

'DEUTSCHLAND!' Germany yelled in reply, glaring up at the man with hate in his fierce cobalt-blue eyes. 'I want to speak to Russia!'

The guard started back, aghast. Then, after seeming to consider, motioned over the other side of the wall with a free hand.

'Climb over our little wall, then, and pass!' he challenged spitefully, laughing.

Germany seethed with rage, face reddening. He wanted to rip this traitor to shreds!

Bavaria tugged at his military overall, shaking her head.

The blonde regarded her, sighed, and cooled down somewhat.

Defiantly, Germany guided the girl to the nearby storage shed—a huge steel building, in which they stored their resources and armaments—and took out the longest ladder they owned, carrying it back together and placing it firmly against the wall at a 90 degree angle.

The man in the tower watched, amused.

Grasping the wooden hilts, Germany shook it to test it was firmly and safely grounded. It stubbornly resisted his touch, and was thus stable. Satisfied, he motioned to Bavaria that he was going up first, and that she was to follow after.

With that, he began to climb. As he ascended, Germany glanced at the guard and his weapon, but dismissed the idea that he would so much as dare to shoot the embodiment of the country he had once been part of and loved, nor the defenceless child of the region which was both no threat or in their control. Germany also considered the sheer absurdity of the whole situation. He was climbing a wall into his own homeland! Those bastards...

Gritting his teeth, Germany eased himself onto the narrow top of the wall, positioning himself so that one leg hung on either side of the great stone barrier. He took the opportunity to look towards the ruins of the East, standing stubborn and depleted amidst the grand house in which his sworn enemy basked in his people's slow demise.

The sky above was ash grey.

Coming back to himself, Germany down to motion Bavaria upwards, but found she had already begun her ascent in one of her moments of single-minded decisiveness.

'Careful, now!' he warned, uneasy. His unease throbbed up a notch as she stumbled and fell down one step, gasping and steadying herself before continuing upwards. Germany sighed and rubbed his forehead in relief.

Finally, she reached the top and extended a hand, which he took to pull her up. Both of them lifted up the ladder and lowered it down the other side to repeat the process in reverse. Germany once again went first on account of Bavaria's safety, and again she followed.

They landed, and turned to face the house erected by the Soviet Union—the intrusive embodiment of their claim on German soil; their right to sustain or destroy it as they so pleased.

Germany hated it with all his being, and that hatred intensified as he looked around at his once familiar eastern territory.

Bavaria also stared, wide-eyed and stunned. This was the East. Boarded-up houses near the Wall, desolate and decaying, a safety measure to prevent further escapes; streets ridden with rubble, remnants of the bloody battles that had once tore through them; gardens neglected and dying, and the people who roamed the cobbled roads trying to maintain the lives that had been stolen from them, resigning and in despair.

Suddenly, she noticed something shaking near her, and looked to see Germany, overcome with passion, barely able to contain himself.

'That bastard...' he snarled, face twisted with a righteous fury. 'I'll kill him...I'll KILL HIM!' almost shouting the last two words, Germany stormed forwards with the savage intent of raging through those iron doors and strangling Russia with his own bare hands.

Bavaria grabbed him round the middle and held him back with every ounce of strength.

'Vatti, no! You can't!' she insisted fiercely. 'What will come of that? You can't kill Russia himself—if you do, what will happen to his people who rely upon him for their very existence? Kill Russia and his boss will kill you, and then we really will be damned! And I...I don't want to lose you, Vatti!'

Germany gazed down at his adoptive daughter's shining sapphire eyes, and saw the truth. She was right, that he could not deny. Russia himself was ultimately blameless for the carnage of war that his leader had forced upon his shoulders, just as he himself was. All he could hope for was that Russia was strong enough to defy his own leader and listen to reason, if he was rational enough as this point to do so. War could destroy the mind, he knew. And Russia had seen and felt the agony of countless bloodshed. This recent one may have driven him well and truly over the edge.

He could only hope -pray- that Russia had managed to hold on.

Silently, he nodded, and squeezed Bavaria's hand.

'I don't want to lose you either,' he admitted solemnly. He would not lose anyone to those scumbags again.

She smiled in relief, and returned the gesture as they made their way towards the great iron doors to the home of the Communist East.

Two East German guards stood on either side, immaculate and threatening in their long grey coats and rigid stance, and regarded him with blank eyes. They had lost their souls, just as any who served Germany's enemy had.

'Was ist Ihr Abeit hier?(4)' the left guard inquired.

Germany looked the man straight in the eyes, unflinching.

'Verhandlung. Mit Sowjetischenrussland,(5)' Germany replied firmly.

The two guards looked at one another, nodded, and one stepped forward to confiscate Germany's gun, before both stepped aside to let him pass.

They remained silent, regarding Germany from the corner of their eye with emotions flickering inside them that Germany could not fully comprehend. Was it yearning? Hope? He could not tell.

Regardless, he had no time to waste. He pushed open the doors with both hands, and stepped into the Great Hall.

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They could only stare. It was truly a grimly spectacular sight. Straight-forward yet powerful, the simple yet bold designs of the walls, black marble floors gleaming in the glow of the brass chandelier overhead. Red flags bearing the hammer and sickle emblem shouted out their dominance as they hung huge and glaring from the ceiling and the banister of the great staircase leading to the top floor, on which Germany knew Russia would be.

Resolutely, he made his way forwards, flanked instantly by Russian guards with their rifles, Bavaria clinging to his leg in fear as they marched across the marble hall, up the steps, and left along the banister towards the door, behind which the embodiment of the world's largest and second most powerful nation sat.

The guard motioned him to stop, and went forward to knock on the door.

'Кто - там(6)?' inquired a familiar soft Russian voice.

'Германия - здесь. Он желания, чтобы говорить(7),' replied the soldier.

'Пожалуйста, впустите его,(8)' bade his country's personification pleasantly.

Germany clenched his free fist. Russia's almost insincere joviality rubbed him the wrong way, as it always had.

Presently, the guard nodded to him, stood on one side of the entrance along with his comrade, the former opening the door for him.

On the other side of the room, Russia sat, smiling all over his mask-like face as he patiently sat at his desk, awaiting them both.

'Well well,' the light-haired Russian exclaimed. 'I expected you would eventually come here, da. Please, sit, and we will talk.'

He motioned to the two seats placed in front of him.

Germany and Bavaria did as they were bid. Germany never took his eyes off Russia's violet ones.

'Now,' Russia resumed, smiling despite the pressure of Germany's piercing gaze. 'To business. What do you want from me?'

'Freedom of the Eastern region from your hands,' Germany insisted firmly, eyes blazing.

Russia stared at the blonde blankly for a moment. Then laughed loudly.

'What's so damn funny?' Germany snarled, ready to stand up, but held down by Bavaria's desperate hands.

Russia proceeded to giggle slightly as he wiped his eyes.

'Aaah, Germany, Germany...' he sighed, as if recalling a fond memory. 'So naive. So impossible obstinate. You know that request is impossible, given by current boss's determination to keep all his acquired territories. Just as you could not defy your own leader, so I cannot defy mine. I have to obey his wishes, if only for the stability of my homeland.'

Russia's eyes dimmed as he looked vacantly into the distance.

'As you are aware, my homeland has been anything but stable in the recent years, and now that there is a semblance of peace—at least, in my country—I will do anything to keep it for as long as it will last. Even if it means keeping this eastern territory under my iron grip.'

Germany slammed his fist on Russia's desk, fuming.

'Then you're a coward!' he seethed. 'A coward and a hypocrite! How dare you inflict the same poverty and misery on others that you have experienced yourself all these years! How DARE you?'

'I would be careful with your words if I were you,' Russia said quietly, expression deadly calm. 'You wouldn't want me to extend by borders any further inland, do you? Perhaps to take a bit of the south? You know...the region called _Bavaria..._'

Germany paled, and Bavaria clung to him in terror.

'You wouldn't—!'

'Oh, believe me, I would,' Russia cut in softly, eyes like ice. 'And you know the Western powers would rather die than create another world war crossing me on your behalf.'

Germany was shaking with rage—rage and despair, knowing that all the taller man said was true.

Russia smiled again, all traces of cold malice gone.

'So, with that cleared up, I'm afraid all I can do is send you home again, Germany. I am sorry, but until another more lenient boss takes over power, I can't help you.'

He waved them away.

'Until then.'

Stunned and numb with the shock of complete and final dismissal, and the failure of all his desperate hopes, Germany lifted himself and Bavaria up, turned, and walked out of Russia's office without a word.

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As they exited the house, stricken, a passing stranger in eastern military uniform caught their eye. The man looked up from the ground and regarded them.

Red eyes. Shock of silver hair...

'B—_Bruder_?(9)' Germany stammered hoarsely.

The two divided brothers, East and West, gazed at each other as if they had never thought to set eyes on each other again, strangers to all intents and purposes, but bound by those unseverable threads of brotherhood that still remained between them despite everything.

Prussia's crimson eyes, dull with despair, narrowed grimly as he frowned.

'Ich wünschte, ich hätte dich nie unter diesen Umständen angetroffen,' he admitted, his usual brash voice slow and doleful. 'Tja. Das Schicksal ist eine Schlampe, oder?(10)'

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_Day by day, year by year  
>When I walk through the streets<br>I see the ruins of this city  
>Arise to houses again...<em>

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Footnotes/Translations:

1: Quadriga on the Brandenburg Gate: The Berlin Quadriga was designed by Johann Gottfried Schadow in 1793 as the Quadriga of Victory, as a symbol of peace (represented by the olive wreath carried by Victory). Located atop the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, Germany, it was seized by Napoleon during his occupation of Berlin in 1806, and taken to Paris. It was returned to Berlin by Field Marshal Gebhard von Blücher in 1814. Her olive wreath was subsequently replaced by an Iron Cross. The statue suffered severe damage during the Second World War, and the association of the Iron Cross with Prussian militarism convinced the Communist government of East Germany to remove this aspect of the statue after the war. The iron cross was restored after German reunification in 1990.

2: 'Halt!'—'Stop there/halt.'

3: 'Wer sind Sie?'—formal, 'Who are you?'

4: Was ist Ihr Arbeit hier?'—‚What is your business here?'

5: 'Verhandlung. Mit Sowjetischenrussland'—'Negotiation. With Soviet Russia.'

6: 'Кто – там?'—'Who is it?'

7: 'Германия - здесь. Он желания, чтобы говорить.'—Germany is here. He wants to talk.'

8: 'Пожалуйста, впустите его.'—'Please, let him in.'

9: Bruder—Brother.

10: Ich wünschte, ich hätte dich nie unter diesen Umständen angetroffen. Tja. Das Schicksal ist eine Schlampe, oder?—'I wished never to see you under the circumstances. Ah well. Fate's a bitch, isn't she?'


	3. Turn Back Reluctantly

Chapter 3: Turn Back Reluctantly

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_Doch bleiben viele Fenster leer,  
>Für viele gab es keine Wiederkehr.<br>Und über das, was grad noch war,  
>Spricht man heute lieber gar nicht mehr.<em>

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Germany stared at his elder brother, quite unable to form either thoughts or words. Prussia was in the same state, albeit whose expression articulated weariness from his recent struggles. Bavaria herself did not know what to feel. Shocked at seeing a man she had believed either dead or in the process of becoming so; glad to see him alive; resentful at meeting the man who had gone to all possible lengths to deny she existed as part of their once-powerful empire.

'You look...well, Brother,' Germany remarked miserably.

Prussia grinned.

'Well as I'll ever be,' he countered playfully, a hint of bitterness sharpening his words. But this edge was not aimed at his younger brother, but at the man who sat triumphantly in the house he had once inhabited.

Germany looked down at the ground, and said nothing. _I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to protect us_, the guilt-ridden side of him wished to blurt out. But his pride, the pride instilled in him by the red-eyed man who stood before him, the one who valued strength as highly as any virtue, forbid any such outlet of feeling. He could not show weakness in front of Prussia. He could not.

Prussia suddenly averted his eyes away from his younger brother to the little girl gazing uncertainly up at him with sapphire eyes so different in shade yet hauntingly similar in nature.

_'He, Kleiner_(1),' he greeted awkwardly, scratching his untidy mop of silver hair. 'How you been keepin'?'

Bavaria blinked, eyes wide. Prussia had never gone out of his way to greet her unless forced by Germany, and had mostly ignored her. What had brought about this change?

Testing the waters, with a wary smile Bavaria returned the gesture with one native to her region:

_'Grüß Gott,_(2)'

Prussia smirked.

_'Wenn Ich ihn sehe!_(3)'

Bavaria gaped at this impertinent response from the older man, and pouted angrily.

Prussia laughed raucously and tousled her hair with genuine affection.

'I kid, I kid!' he cackled, drawing a sheepish smile from the blond girl. Such unbridled and casual affection was not something that had often been bestowed on her, not by Germany or anyone else, so this was a naturally uncomfortable thing to deal with.

Germany himself was also shocked by this development.

'Brother...You...'

Prussia regarded his brother coolly.

'What's the matter, West? Old dogs can't learn new tricks? Respectively, I can't be civil to our _schwesterlein_(4)?'

Bavaria stared, dumbstruck. Prussia had called her "sister". This was by far one of the happiest moments of her life. Old Prussia; the once-hailed and glorified nation-turned-annexed-province, accomplished, powerful, and of a standard Bavaria would have to fight for a lifetime to surpass...had accepted her, in his roundabout way.

Germany too could not believe it. Glad as he was, it was almost too much to take in. What exactly had caused this change of heart?

Prussia, ever wily, seemed to read his thoughts, and crowed:

'I'll never tell!'

Suddenly becoming aware of where he was, Prussia leaned in closer to his younger brother with a grave expression he seldom wore.

'Quickly escape this place, West,' he advised shortly. 'Before he finds out we've spoken. Take care of Bavaria. Go!'

Germany's insides were writhing with conflict. Save both himself and his sister by abandoning his brother, or save his brother and risk the rest of the country itself from falling to Russia's wrath.

But Prussia's blazing red eyes saw the torment in his brother, saw that he considered jeapordising the fate of the nation he himself had brought up from the sweetness of infancy, grew enraged, and glared in such a way as to say: _'If you do that, I'll kill you.'_

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Germany took Bavaria's hand once again, and walked past his lost brother without a glance back.

Bavaria never took her eyes away from Prussia's face, shadowed by the downcast brim of his military cap that covered his eyes, as his head bowed down to the ground away from them. She found tears welling in her eyes. Tears for Prussia, for Germany, and for herself. For everyone. This was so wrong. She didn't want to be taken away from him. She didn't want...

Bavaria sobbed aloud as she was taken further and further through the ruins of the East and away from the brother she never knew she had.

Inside his heart, Germany cried too. Fixing his eyes upon the Berlin Wall ahead, face set with determination, he vowed to endure to the end, and one day rise to a height no one could ever reach again.

'Don't think they've gotten the best of me yet!' Prussia called out, without moving. Germany stopped, but also did not turn back. _'AS-MAI PRŪSA!'_(5)

The proclamation ringing out from the misery and destruction, suddenly made the world appear to brighten for a moment, as if radiating with the passion of Prussia's words.

Secretively, Germany smiled.

_'Ja, du bist,_(6)' he murmured, waving as he walked onwards towards the West.

_'Behüte dich Gott, Preußen!_(7)' Bavaria called with all of her heart, as she and Germany slowly faded away into the haze of the sunset.

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Russia watched their departure from the front window of the house overlooking the East, the divide, and the Western half of Germany. Drenched in the bloody rays of the sun, he was the tragic epitome of the blood that had been spilled in his name. He remembered Germany's true words about his allowing the self-same misery that had been inflicted on himself and his children all these hundreds of years. A tug at the back of his half-shredded mind sparked a flicker of regret threatening to distort the clear-cut forthrightness and brutality through which he had thus far held his ground. Fighting it - that stinging pain - he recalled how Germany had also called him a coward and a hypocrite for allowing the above to take place. This weak, broken nation had called him, the mighty Soviet Union, a coward! Spitting in the face of all he had suffered and lost to get this far...was unforgivable.

Russia hated Germany. Hated him for all his stubbornness. Hated him for defying his own wishes for peace in his homeland, artificial as it was. But above all, he hated him for the truth he laid bare before him like an ugly wound half smothered under bandages.

Bloody, mad bandages.

Turning his eyes away, Russia wondered what to feel. But then, he decided that feeling was a luxury none of them could afford now.

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Left exactly where he was, Prussia looked to the heavens and wondered whether divine help had any hand in his fate, and whether the course of time would undo the iron threads that marred the ties of the once great nation he had willingly partied himself to: that of Germany. At the mercy of his enemies and some of his own people, Prussia could merely watch and wait as he was pulled ever away from who he was and into the hands of the void of not being.

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_But many windows stay empty  
>For many there's no return<br>And about the things that have just been  
>One does rather not talk about today anymore.<em>

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><p><span>Translation Notes:<span>

(1)_ 'He, Kleiner'_: Hey, kid (informal)

(2) '_Grüß Gott!': _Common Southern German greeting literally meaning 'Greet God'. The South Germans are mainly Roman Catholic.

(3) '_Wenn Ich ihn sehe_,': 'When I see him'—a good-natured sarcastic response Northern Germans sometimes give to this religious greeting.

(4) '_Schwesterlein'_: 'Little sister'

(5) '_AS-MAI PRŪSA!': _Old Prussian for _'_I AM PRUSSIA!' (not sure about the 'I am' part though...

(6)_ 'Ja, du bist'_: 'Yes, you are' (informal)

(7) '_Behüte dich Gott, Preußen_!': 'God protect you, Prussia!'


End file.
